Coming Home
by KatsWords141
Summary: Post ME3. The Reapers have been destroyed and the rest of the galaxy is left with the aftermath: the difficult, albeit temporary, absence of advanced technology; and the agony of those who were lost in the war. But the galaxy will rebuild. Will Shepard and the Normandy crew ever have the chance to reunite? ... FEMShep/Garrus Romance.
1. Awakening

**A.N: The question of what could happen after ME3 was just too good an experiment to pass up. We shall see how this goes... Enjoy, dear readers! And please let me know what you think! Cookies for all!  
**

 **Coming Home...**

She didn't exactly know how long she had stared into the abyss; minutes, hours, months. It didn't much matter. The stars were beautifully quiet with their twinkling, familiar lights. She remembered looking up at them as a child, pointing out each constellation, her innocence tied to the wonder that was the sky. That alluring call to the unknown was the exact reason why she had joined the Alliance. She wanted to be a part of that mystery—that fantastically looming adventure that was the void above Earth.

Jane Shepard had achieved that ten-fold. She had defeated Saren, conquered a Reaper Destroyer while on foot, and destroyed a collector base that was deemed a suicide mission. Effectively and with the help of loyal teammates, she had saved the galaxy now three times over. Granted, it came with the high price of collaborating with Cerberus—not to mention dying.

Her breath hitched, pain radiating throughout chest, as a shiver began along her shoulders. She remembered what it felt like to float weightlessly through space, a tear in her suit, the cold vacuum seeping in and suffocating her. The galaxy was a cruelly cold place. Shepard's life had always felt consumed in the eternal struggle of fighting and surviving.

If she had known, as a child, that her death waited for her in the stars would she have still wanted to explore that mysterious sky? Would she have still applied for the Academy, had she known the tough choices that would face her after Cerberus thrust her back into the world?

The conversation with her mother echoed through her mind. _"Even when you were little you dreamed of the life you have."_

Not all of the galaxy was cold. There were parts of it, people in it that still resonated hope and belonging and _warmth_.

Her chest heaved and a wet cough emerged as she tried desperately to suck in air.

She managed to lick her lips, the bitter tang of blood sitting uneasily on her tongue. The memory of the first time she had tasted her blood on _his_ mouth plate, came flooding to the forefront of her thoughts. He had bitten her, perhaps a bit too hard in the heat of passion, marking her as his bond mate—it was within his kiss that she had savored the moment; savored the pain with the unbelievable pleasure.

 _Garrus_ …

His name echoed sweetly through her mind. Her senses slowly began to filter back; the mere whisper of his name breaking her from her trance. She worked to sit up, slowly trying to move her elbows beneath her for leverage. But her body was cocked back at a strange angle and the movement caused a searing pain down her back and down into her hips. Defeated, Shepard stilled.

Garrus might be on his way over to her. He _always_ watched her six and sometimes had the uncanny ability to shoot the targets in front of her before she could pull the trigger herself. She both hated and loved that in him. Aside from the minor annoyance of his competitiveness on the battlefield, it was also his way of protecting her. Warmth filled her stomach at the thought—he was the only soldier that she had ever trusted with both her life and her heart.

He would be looking for her…

With great effort, in an attempt to search for him, she managed to turn her head. The scraping of pebbles on the rubble beneath her head assaulted her ears and the world spun dizzyingly out of control.

A moan escaping her lips, she squeezed her eyes shut to stop the spinning and regain her equilibrium. Her head felt like she'd been hit with a concussion grenade, or that night she'd foolishly challenged Wrex to a drinking game—she'd won by a minimal margin, but suffered for it the next morning.

After a long moment, she slowly opened her eyes.

The world was skewed in the shadowy night but she was barely able to make out the silhouette of half pummeled buildings. On the flickering red horizon sat a fallen Reaper ship. Large boulders, twisted metal, and debris surrounded her—something heavy lay across her lap. She didn't—couldn't make out any movement to her flanks. Earth was eerily quiet.

Suddenly, she smelled it. Smoke… Ozone… Death…

A tear stung as it rolled down her cheek and she fought to keep her lips from quivering. Shepard struggled to turn her head back to the stars, the armor on her chest and neck felt stiff and… sticky.

She'd done it. War with the Reapers hadn't been easy, but she'd done it.

Shepard forced a swallow, a knot thick in her throat.

At what cost?

She desperately wanted to return to that abyss above—wanted to stare for a few more minutes and forget everything again before she too faded away like all the others who had lost their lives in this war…

Working to find the constellations that were familiar, Shepard found it an easy distraction from her thoughts. They were the same star clusters that she'd had a fondness for as an innocent child: Orion, Andromeda, Canis Major, Fornax…

If she squinted, the stars would begin to look a bit like the sultry lights that dangled from the ceiling of the bar in the Silver Coast Casino. Once, Garrus had swung her around there on the dance floor, his movement was surprisingly graceful—at least compared to her own. It was a dance that he had no business knowing. But he did, all the same. He had smirked, his mandibles flaring when she hooked her leg around his hip. He had stretched her suggestively, testing her flexibility—a move that he then purred to her about being so much more fun in the bedroom. And, by the stars, it was.

Shepard blinked, taking another shallow breath when she realized that she couldn't feel her toes—the very toes that Garrus had made curl in absolute bliss that night: it seemed so long ago.

Her throat tightened, something wet lingering in the back of her mouth. Shouldn't he be here by now? Scooping her up into his strong, muscular arms, pulling her to close to his plated chest and reassuring her that everything was going to be okay?

At the thought, she cracked a half smile. If someone had told her five years ago that Commander- _fucking_ -Shepard would be longing to be coddled on the battlefield, she would have punched them in the throat.

But the truth of it was profoundly different—foreign to her, even. Garrus rescued her in more ways than one. Throughout the years he had been there, even from the beginning, mending her wounds and easing her pain. When she could trust no one else, she knew she could trust _him_. He made the grit of any aftermath soften and would help wash the blood from her hands.

The blood…

That damned wall outside the elevator on the Crew Deck flashed before her eyes—the names of all those who had died under her command long burned into memory.

A sick feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. _EDI_ …

Her name would be the next plate upon that wall.

But what could Shepard have done differently? The Catalyst's choices were painfully difficult; the consequences before her, impossible to comprehend.

Shepard remembered being wounded. She remembered hunching over and shuffling up the ramp, her life-blood seeping with every step, leaving a dotted trail in her wake. She remembered hesitantly raising the pistol to the power coupling and the tears, the turmoil mixed amid her physical pain. Could she really— _truly_ —kill all the sentient synthetic beings within the galaxy? The entire Geth race? EDI? …

Shortly before they had suited up for that final battle, EDI had confided in Shepard; because of her, EDI was finally beginning to feel alive. EDI _wanted_ to live a life. She _wanted_ to explore the boundaries— _wanted_ to explore a life with Jeff.

Shepard tried to imagine Jokers face when he found out what Shepard had chosen to sacrifice—when he found EDI's lifeless body. Would _he_ think it was all worth it?

Shepard had felt Garrus beside her, up on the Citadel, even though she knew he wasn't actually there. _"What have we been fighting for all this time, Shepard?"_ He had asked, his subharmonics low, while she stared at the power coupling. _"What did they die for? Wrex, Ashley, Thane, Anderson…"_

Her heart had ached when each of their faces flashed before her eyes. Her original mission was to destroy the reapers. But the mission had gotten so much more complicated, so convoluted… It wasn't so _simple_ anymore.

She had felt his large hand on hers, his fingers tight as they grasped the trigger guard. She had felt his strength lifting the gun at her side.

He helped her pull that trigger.

Shepard knew that it was the only way. She knew she could never control the Reapers and let her crew mates die in vain.

Garrus' image had dissipated, but his added strength did not.

 _"Even if I'm not there, you'll never be alone…"_

Shepard forced herself to remember that she had loaded Garrus onto the Normandy with the rest of the crew before reaching the beam. She had given them an order to leave her and the SOL system behind a trail of dust.

Shepard opened her eyes, once more to the familiar stars above her.

Hopefully the Normandy was far, far away in that beautiful void.

It would be better this way—safer for them; Jane Shepard tried to convince herself, swallowing hard. But the harsh reality of the situation hit her hard in the stomach. She was fading away, like the dying stars flickering in the sky above. The image of him carried her through the Citadel to destroy the Reapers, but never again would Garrus Vakarian carry her off the battlefield.

 _"I'll meet you at the bar."_

….


	2. Heading Away

Joker's fingers slid over the controls, speedily maneuvering the Normandy in their current sticky predicament. Trying to outrun the Reapers and trying to stay out of the crossfire while waiting for Commander Shepard's call for an EVAC from the Citadel, was not a task for just any old Alliance pilot. Joker prided himself on the thought that anyone else would have crumbled under the stress. Fortunately for Shepard, the Normandy had the best damn helmsman in the Alliance fleet. He wouldn't let the Commander down.

"Come-on, Commander, where are you?" Joker hissed through clinched teeth, swerving his baby just out of reach of the eerie claw of a Reaper ship. Kaiden had radioed up to Joker from the shuttle, announcing that Shepard had stayed behind, but Joker had already known. He had heard the entire exchange. Instead of following her orders to get the hell out of dodge before the Crucible went off, Joker made the executive decision to bide his time in this shit-show and wait for just the right moment to retrieve her. _Anytime, now._

He had lost track of the how long ago the away team had reconnected back onto the Normandy. Assuming Shepard made it to the Conduit, it shouldn't take forever to get to the controls on the Citadel. Avoiding Reapers wasn't the worst of it, trying to get the Normandy to the Citadel and snatch up the Commander before the Crucible fired, however, would be no Cakewalk.

Joker permitted himself a half-cocked twitch of his lips at the thought of him and the Commander _attempting_ a Cakewalk. With his Vrolik Syndrome and with Shepard's blatant reputation for being a sore loser with one hell of a right hook; perhaps this _would_ be easier. "Cakewalk. Heh, Heh."

EDI's silky voice drew him from his thoughts. "Jeff," she spoke softly. "Commander Shepard gave us an order; perhaps she knew there wouldn't be a way—"

"—I'm not leaving without her." He growled, his fingers growing tense on the control board. 'Order' be damned; he'd happily face a court martial if it meant making sure that Shepard got off the Citadel before it blew the Reapers to hell. Any minute now she'd be calling on him. "Can you just check to make sure that we still have an open Comm with the Commander?" He asked, significantly lowering his tone. He couldn't just leave Shepard—she was the glue that held their crew together.

Admiral Hackett's voice came suddenly over the tense cockpit. _"Did anyone see_ anybody _reach the Conduit?!"_ There was a frantic air about the tone in his voice.

Joker stole a glance over to EDI, who was already staring back at him. "The Comm is working." EDI announced quietly.

He rolled his eyes back to the controls under his fingers and ignored her comment of the obvious.

 _"No sir,"_ A male voice came in reply over the communications channel, but the man did not identify himself. The bowel-loosening resonance of a Reaper destroyer close-by charging its weapon could be heard in the background static. _"No one made it to the Conduit."_

More static came over the Comm.

Joker risked a look up at the Citadel on the display screen, and he found himself squinting up at the picture. The Citadel's arms had begun to open.

 _"This is it, everyone,"_ Admiral Hackett's voice came again, this time significantly more optimistic. _"The arms are opening."_ The structure surrounding the Crucible began to shed away from the actual—much smaller—mechanism and move forward into the Citadel. _"Ten seconds until contact."_

Joker tried to keep from jumping out of his seat; the Commander had done it. She had _fucking_ done it! Shepard didn't have a reputation in the Alliance as being particularly stealthy, but somehow she snuck through the Conduit's beam without the ground units spotting her. The Comm unit in her ear must have been malfunctioning, or else they would have heard from her by now.

The Citadel's five arms continued to spread wide to accept the Crucible, the center of the massive structure circular in form. For a brief moment, he could appreciate the beauty of it once it had opened fully—how it looked vaguely like the five petal flowers Hilary used to pluck for him back on the Tiptree colony. When he was younger, he used to loathe her affections for him—as a younger sister, she worshiped him, followed him and even decided that she wanted to be a pilot someday like he had been aspiring to be himself. After the Reaper attack on the colony, Joker had been playing those memories over and over again in his head. He wished he had been more appreciative of her love. If they got out of this alive, his first stop was going to be at the closest Salarian colony to find where she had been evacuated to.

Joker smiled; he couldn't wait to introduce his sister to the crew, perhaps even take her on a little adventure on the Normandy—provided Shepard cleared it. He tapped the Comm button, opening a channel. Perhaps the Commander's Comm was at least one-sided. "This is the Normandy to Commander Shepard," He adjusted the ship's navigations to start towards the Citadel. "We are on an approach towards the Citadel—swinging by to pick you up." Joker threw a smile and a wink at EDI.

There was a time, not so long ago, when EDI's presence annoyed the shit out of him. Joker had tried in vain to disable her and in return she merely proceeded to push all his buttons. Eventually, the button-pushing became a daily routine on both their ends. Somewhere between her spinning his seat out of control and taking the reins of the Normandy during the Suicide mission, Joker felt his heart lighten in anticipation of her playful banter. EDI's self-awareness of the limitless possibilities upon gaining a body seemed accelerate his feelings towards her. He was finally able to look in her eyes and touch her, even. He fell hard, but worked to disguise his feelings for her with humor.

As EDI had prepared to disembark the Normandy to accompany the away team to Earth, she had drawn Joker aside. She had kissed him under the subdued lighting within the cockpit.

This war was almost over and once it did, he intended wear his heart on his sleeve.

 _"Commander Shepard—,"_ the previously unidentified male voice replied in her place, _"—never made it to the Conduit. I'm sorry Normandy. Captain Anderson and her…"_ His voice faltered with interference. _"…were struck by Harbinger..."_

Joker's stomach dropped unexpectedly. _No. That can't be right_. His head started to spin, his fingers cramping over the controls. As his focus faltered, it gradually became harder and harder to maneuver the ship through the warfield. _Not Shepard…_

Not Commander- _fucking_ -Shepard: the woman who Cerberus brought back from the dead; the woman who never took shit from anyone; the woman who could drink a goddamn Krogan under the table.

She _had_ to be alive on the Citadel. Who else could have activated the arms?

Ground forces were sadly mistaken.

"Jeff—," After a moment, Liara—who was now standing behind him—spoke firmly when Joker didn't divert their course away from the giant space base.

He knew what she was going to say and he didn't want to hear it. "—she's on the goddamn _Citadel_!" He gestured roughly to the display with his hand and went back to maneuvering. "I know it. She has to be." Fear's icy fingers gripped his heart and a small part of him knew that the words he spoke weren't true. But they'd come too far to just give up hope.

The Normandy shook violently as they took a hit from the crossfire. "We're losing shields, EDI." Joker called to his copilot. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Reroute all non-essential power to the shields." He ordered. EDI complied without reply. He called out for the crew to brace themselves as he made another sharp maneuver, cutting it perhaps a bit too close to the powerful red beam from a Reaper ship.

Joker could hear the Normandy groan and creak under him. "Just hold on." He whispered, mostly to the ship, though the words gave him comfort as well.

Liara's abrupt exclamation behind his chair caught Joker's attention back to the monitor above him. The center of the Crucible glowed red. Little red dots spotted the petals of the flower-like structure. The deep red glow with the center began to steadily grow. It took him only a moment to realize what was happening—the Crucible was firing, destroying the Citadel with it.

The whole structure was a ticking time bomb and the Commander was right in the middle of it. His eyes traced the structure, rapidly trying to figure out his next move—how could he get to the Citadel without getting caught in the blast? Had he waited too late, waiting for her request for an EVAC? Joker hadn't anticipated the entire thing going up in smoke. He hadn't anticipated hearing that Shepard had never even reached the Conduit's beam. He hadn't anticipated her being struck by a Destroyer.

Liara placed a gentle and on his shoulder, "We need to leave."

Perhaps a bit too forcibly, he wrenched his shoulder out from her grasp. "God damn it." Joker cursed, momentarily pressing his back into his seat, defeated. If anyone was alive on that ship, they wouldn't be soon—provided that the Ground Unit was incorrect and Shepard wasn't dead already.

He choked back the knot in his throat and set a course for the Mass Relay.


	3. Shattered Dreams

**A.N. Three chapters in, lovelies. My goodness, this just started out as a One-Shot and it spiraled right out of control. Just as an FYI; as we progress forward, there are going to be some memories (if you haven't noticed, memories appear in Italics) that probably aren't *exactly* Cannon. Bear with me for a little while and I would LOVE it if you let me know what you think! Cookies for your thoughts? :)**

 **Chapter 3**

Data-pad in hand, Garrus reached up to the green, sputtering control panel in the middle of the door. How many times had he come up here before this? How many absurdly mesmerizing nights had he spent in these quarters? The door struggled to open, pausing half-way for a brief second before allowing him full entrance.

The smell in Shepard's quarters was staggering. Faintly, the familiar undertone of vanilla reached him, overwhelmed by the stronger—and vastly more unpleasant—odors of ozone and algae. The bright blue light of the aquarium flickered loudly, threatening to wane at any moment, and bathed the bedroom in a subtle tone.

He hesitated at the threshold, dreading that first step inside. The nights where he took comfort in the sight of Shepard's quarters were no longer.

After a long moment, swallowing dryly, he forced himself to take a shaky step inside.

The door thrashed shut behind him. Wincing at the harsh noise, he backed up until his armor clanked against the door.

Just before the Normandy had been forced to crash land onto this humid planet, Doctor Chakwas had been able to slap some medi-gel on Garrus' wounds and give him a slight sedative. He hadn't particularly wanted the sedative, but when the Normandy jerked unexpectedly into FTL, it was all that Karin could to do to stop him from destroying the Comm unit on the wall in protest.

But still, an insufferable ache constricted in his chest when his eyes traced the quarters that Shepard would never again use.

Using the door at his back as leverage, he slid down to the floor and stared at the shattered fish tank. The impact from the crash been devastating on the large aquarium; glass and lifeless bodies of fish littered the soaked carpet.

Shepard had loved those silly, overfed fish. She would watch them when she couldn't find peace in her sleep. There was something about their fluid movement that calmed her—because of that, she had taken great measures to make sure they survived the rigors of space travel.

What would she say if she saw them now?

Garrus' mandibles pulled tight against his face. He wished he could have stopped the tank from shattering, somehow—he wished he could have saved at least one thing that Shepard had loved.

Tossing the data-pad that contained the Normandy's damage report aside, Garrus rubbed at his scarred mandible and groaned.

Shepard had left written executive orders for him to take command in the event of something happening to her. After the Normandy crashed, he had spent all day shoving aside his personal struggles from the day's events, in order to take up Shepard's position. And while he knew formalities, like damage reports, were necessary to keep the up morality of the crew, all he had wanted to do was sit in her room—unbothered, to watch those damn fish.

Letting out an unsatisfied puff of air, he surveyed the rest of Shepard's quarters. Like the rest of the Normandy, it was in shambles. Ceiling panels had come loose, scattering themselves around the room, wires hanging exposed in their place.

Even the display case where Shepard had kept her delicate models had been ruined. Some of the models still clung to their pegs, while others dusted around her desk, and the floor. She had collected a ridiculous amount of models these last few years—including one of an Alliance Cruiser, a Turian Cruiser, a Geth ship, a UT-47 Kodiak Drop Shuttle and even a model of the Normandy SR-2 and SR-1.

Every _damn_ stop she would detour away from the shore party to check the souvenir shops for a model she didn't yet have. Shepard had very few indulges, so for the most part the minor annoyance went unspoken by the crew.

Garrus' gaze settled on the model of the M35 Mako. Fallen from the display case, it had landed on its side upon her desk, three wheels up in the air. The position of it reminded him of Shepard's incessantly bad driving. His mandibles twitched. Spirits, she had liked to test that vehicle's limits—as well as the limits of her crewmate's stomachs. Shepard was the only one upset about the Mako being obliterated alongside the SR-1.

After a deep breath, Garrus pushed himself to stand and took a long stride over to her desk, glass crunching under his step. With the most gentle of care, he turned the Mako right-side-up before running his gloved hand over the delicate plastic.

When Shepard had died on the SR-1, Garrus had purchased a replica of the Mako himself. He spent meticulous hours putting it together and once it was finished, he took it with him to rendezvous with the Alliance Dreadnought Kilimanjaro—which at the time, Hannah Shepard had been the Captain.

Garrus hadn't felt right about some anonymous Alliance officer that didn't know shit about Jane, revealing Shepard's death to her mother.

So he had done it, himself.

He had once read that human customs indicated that flowers were generally acceptable to express condolences, but the model of the Mako had seemed far more relevant—far more meaningful to the kind of person that Jane was.

When Cerberus had brought her back, Shepard had resisted contacting her mother—perhaps fearing the confrontation or perhaps fearing that a second death loomed close as their mission to the Collector Base drew near. She hadn't found out about Garrus' visit to Hannah until her rank had been stripped from her and she was grounded back at Earth.

His brief visit on the Kilimanjaro had happened long before Jane and he were ever romantically involved. But he had grown to care for her from the very beginning. The realization that he loved her hadn't come until she was already gone.

Several months ago, Shepard finally drew Garrus aside to the closed doors of her quarters, and questioned his rendezvous with her mother. Apparently Hannah had ratted him out—naturally curious to know where their relationship was headed.

Tears were unusually quick to her eyes that evening as Jane let the façade she held with others, crumble in front of him. All she had ever known was fighting and surviving; she had barely stopped long enough to realize that there were people in this galaxy that _actually_ cared for her. And for a short moment, it broke her resolve.

While he continued to hold his tongue to just how intense his feelings for her were, they had still made love that night.

Garrus tapped his gloved finger on the top of the M-35 model. He wasn't sure he could handle facing Shepard's mother again.

He wasn't so sure that he could handle Shepard dying for the second time.

His chest tightened once more and he groped at the tight fabric around his neck. He needed to get out of this heavy armor; it was beginning to weigh uncomfortably on his shoulders.

Carefully stepping over and around the fish on the floor, he slowly sauntered towards Shepard's tightly tucked bed.

 _"Here, take him." Shepard called to Kaiden, slipping out from under Garrus' shoulder, handing him over. Kaiden started to dutifully tow him up the Normandy's ramp._

 _Garrus' eyes caught hers and he breathed out her name. Shepard was fully capable of hauling him into the cargo bay—he didn't understand why she had let him go._

 _"You've gotta get out here." She shouted up to the crew, but made no move to follow._

 _Garrus shook his head, incredulously, "And you've gotta be kidding me!"_

 _"Don't argue with me, Garrus." She snapped, the faintest hint of a dark pall falling across her face._

 _Shepard could use her 'command voice' on him all she wanted. He didn't give a damn about regulations and insubordination when it came to her safety._ She _needed to come with_ him _; they'd figure something else out—another approach to the Citadel. They could do this together._

 _He dug in his feet and although Kaiden was a big man, he struggled when Garrus resisted. "We're in this until the end!" He growled, repeating the exact words she had said to him not even several hours ago. He reached for her, stretching as far as Kaiden's hold on him would allow. The pain in his shoulder and hip screamed out as he did so, but he resisted the instinct to withdrawal._

 _Taking in a deep breath, Shepard stepped onto the ramp, her heavy boots clunking against the tempered metal. "Whatever happens here, know that I will always love you." Her gloved hand went to his scarred mandible._

 _Spirits, this couldn't be happening. He knew her all too well. Pleading wasn't going to change her resolve: if anything, it would make her more willful. He both hated and loved that in her._

 _Garrus felt sick at the sudden realization that he would be able to neither follow her nor stop her._

 _He brought his fingers up to wrap around her tiny wrist, holding her there against him. Leaning into the warmth of her touch, he yearningly searched her eyes for any hint of hesitation. There were so many things that had gone wrong in his life; he'd give anything for the assurance that she'd survive this and come running back to his arms in the end._

 _There was no such beautiful lie within those hazel orbs. No promises of a retirement on an oceanside cabin with little baby Krogan splashing in the wakes. No promises of growing old together. No promises to come back alive._

 _Within Shepard's eyes, lay merely an unadulterated affection for her best friend._

 _Her breath trembled against his mouth plates for a short moment before she pressed her impossibly soft lips against his mouth._

 _She knew this was a suicide mission. He could feel it in the way she kissed him: like they were approaching the collector base, all over again._

 _It wasn't supposed to end this way._

 _For the last few days, he had tried to be positive about the outcome of this war—mostly for her sake—but now staring at the woman he loved before she ran headfirst at that Reaper Destroyer, without him at her six; he found himself unable to muster a single happy thought._

 _She had started back down the ramp when he desperately grasped for her hand again. "Shepard," He had missed his chance to say it last time and he now worried that_ this _chance was fading just as quickly—never to arise again. "I… love you, too." He had meant to save those words, wanting to use them to solidify a promise of a future together. Now, tumbling out of his mouth, the three syllables seemed so final._

 _Her fingers slipped right out of his._

 _Turning when she hopped down onto the soil, she threw him the smile that was reserved only for him; this time, perhaps a little sadder. "Goodbye Garrus."_

Shoving away the ceiling panel that had fallen on her bed, Garrus swept off the dusty debris and smoothed out the wrinkles on the bedsheet before dropping himself onto the edge. He could feel a deep ache in his bones and his soul—he was beyond exhausted.

One finger at a time, he worked off his gloves and stared at his blunted talons. Garrus had always kept them short and somewhat rounded, for _her_.

He guessed there wasn't a reason to do that anymore.

A tremble started deep in his chest, while he stared at his hands. The image of her tiny fingers intertwined in his, flashed through his mind.

The calming agent that Karin had sedated him with was beginning to wear off, he realized, feeling the frustration and sadness churning away inside him, threatening to break lose into frenzy. Garrus worked quickly to rid himself of the suddenly uncomfortable body armor, letting it fall haphazardly at his feet.

When he finally had stripped himself down to his under-suit, he buried his face in his hands and heaved deep, shaky breathes, repeating the very words that had broken his heart.

 _"There is no Shepard without Vakarian."_

Anger bubbled up his throat. As a soldier, no words were truer. He had been in near every battle with her; they watched each other's backs, knew each other's combat style better than _anyone_. They complimented one another—sometimes moving like a choreographed dance on the battlefield.

As her lover, he hated himself for letting her go alone. He should have been there—holding her flank one final time. But instead, Shepard had died alone and in vain. The Crucible had fired despite her efforts. And now, because of his one mistake on the battlefield earlier that day, he would have to deal with losing her for a second and final time.

If he had just pushed a little harder, held her hand a little tighter, told her he loved her a little sooner—would it have made a difference in the end?

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Shepard took in a deep, painful breath of air and forced her eyes open. Wincing at the blinding white light, she tried to focus on the blurry figures leaning over her; whose loud chatter had woken her.

The too-clean smell permeated her nose, leaking down her dry throat. In a way, this was worse than when she had woken up in the—at least quiet and familiar—rubble littered battlefield.

More than anything, Jane Shepard loathed hospitals.

"Shepard's awake," An older woman, with a pleasantly deep voice, spoke urgently. "Someone run and grab Admiral Hackett immediately. He was just here, shouldn't be too far outside of the facility."

This woman's booming tone was already giving her a killer headache. Shepard groaned and squeezed her eyes shut: her heart was suddenly thumping against her temples and the world threatened to spin.

This was going to be one hell of a hangover.

Wanting to raise her fingers to the bridge of her nose, she fidgeted, but her arms were stuck to her side.

"Easy there, Jane. You need to lie still."

 _Fuck that._ "What I _need_ to do is get up." Shepard protested, her voice dry and raspy, her tongue thick in her throat. She strained her eyes to look over herself. There was a blanket over top of her, pulled up to her shoulders, blocking any view of the straps across her prone body.

The doctor furrowed her eyebrows at Shepard, before going back to typing on a small handheld data-pad. "Not right now, you don't." She wore a standard scientist uniform, blue strips running across the front and shoulders. Her graying hair was pulled back into a tight bun. A patch on her chest displayed the doctor's surname in a blocked font: Land.

Shepard frowned, feeling a strong urge to rub her eyes, run her hand through her hair or even just cross her arms—anything but lay still. It was like an itch she couldn't scratch—and it was becoming increasingly annoying. "Is it really necessary to have me strapped down?" Shepard asked through clinched teeth.

Doctor Land walked to the end of Shepard's bed and placed the data-pad in a little notch at the footboard before catching the stare that had followed her. "You were hit by a beam on a Reaper Destroyer; as a result, you have some fairly extensive burns. We're still assessing the damage on your biotics, but when you were thrown backward from the blow, you fractured a few vertebrae. Like it or not, you're going to be in bed for a while." Her voice was stern and unwavering.

In more ways than one, she reminded Shepard of Doctor Chakwas.

 _"Military life isn't as romantic as I had imagined."_ She remembered Karin confessing, staring down into the simple metal mug, one of the nights they had indulged in a few drinks.

Images from the Citadel began to flash back to her. The frightening rumbling of the Reaper Destroyer charging its weapon; the intensely bright blue beam up to the Citadel; the smell emanating around the Keeper as it sorted through the piles of separated body parts; the lifeless expression of the child-like Catalyst; and the beautiful stars above Earth—it all rushed at her at once.

" _Fucking_ hell," A familiar voice drew her from the rush of memories. "Shepard!" The heavily tattooed woman was leaning over her and suddenly looking back up to the Doctor. "She's fading out again—what the _hell_ kind of meds do you have her on?—"

Shepard cleared her throat, "—Jack?"

Brown eyes met hers, followed by a strangely toothy smile. "Shep," She breathed out, relieved, "Christ on a cracker."

Yep, it was definitely Jack. Her eyes scanned the woman's face, searching any tell-tale signs of injury. But all she found was a worried smile on Jack's pale skin and dark tattoos. Relieved that at first glance Jack seemed unscathed, Shepard tried to return her smile, but one side of her face was oddly stiff—and tingling warm. "You're alive…"

" _You're_ alive!" Jack exclaimed incredulously, stepping back and loudly dragging a chair to the side of the bed before plopping down into it. "We thought we lost you." She leaned an elbow onto the bed and scratched nervously at her eyebrow. A few stray locks of dark hair fell over her forehead.

Slowly, the last battle plans flitted back to her memory. Jack and her biotic students had been tasked with helping fend off husks a battlefield away while Shepard and her team approached the Conduit. "Your kids… are they alright?"

Jack shrugged, her studded leather jacket crinkling with the movement. "Yeah, those assholes are just fine. A few scratches. But they're tough little shits, they'll be okay."

Shepard swallowed dryly. "You're gonna owe them a good bit of change for that swear jar." She did her best to wink at Jack—the Academy's attempts at trying to get her to ease back on the swearing had always been fruitless and Jack's students had teased her relentlessly about it. Shepard couldn't resist poking fun, herself, now that Jack was less likely to punch her in the face.

"The deal was that I wouldn't swear around _them_." Jack clarified, incredulously, with a point of her finger. "I'm free to fucking curse in other company if I damn well please!"

While her lips weren't giving any signs of a smile, Jack's eyes glinted at the taunt. Shepard's chest burned as she let out a breathy laugh.

The tough tattooed woman that Shepard had come to respect leaned forward and frowned at her. "Seriously though, I really am glad that you're alive." She whispered. "When we saw you get struck—"

"— _Shepard_ ," Admiral Hackett interrupted, coming into view beside the bed, opposite from Jack. His blue uniform wasn't quite as clean and pressed as usual. "Welcome back. You're one lucky son-of-a-bitch."

Shepard nodded to him. Her lungs burned, and her throat was so terribly dry that her voice wouldn't rise above a whisper. "Speaking of impossible things," she tried to clear her throat and managed to lick her chapped lips. "Unless I set a new record of a gravity-dive sans helmet, how did I get down from the Citadel?" She tried to crack a smile once more, but her cheek was awfully tight and it pulled painfully at her ear and hairline.

Hackett's eyebrows furrowed and his head tilted slightly to the side. He blinked before choosing his words very carefully. "You weren't up on the Citadel, Shepard…"

Breathing was becoming a difficult feat. It hadn't been painful just moments before Jack had made her laugh, but now every breath was wrought with licks of flame. Shepard tried to block out the pain and concentrate on the conversation. "Not when I woke up, no." She clarified, "but I made it to the Conduit, we—we talked over the Comm." How could he not remember? He had been the one to urge her forward after she had killed T.I.M., because the Crucible wasn't firing… after Anderson had died right beside her… after all she wanted to do was lay down and close her eyes—for it'd been years since she felt like she had just _sat_.

He took a quick glance over at Jack and then to the Doctor, a questioning look on his face. "You must have hit your head when Harbinger took you down. You never made it to the Conduit. No one made it through."

"Shepard," Jack interrupted. "I saw you go down." She leaned forward in her chair, her elbows resting on her knees. "The kids and I went to go see what happened after we heard you call in the Normandy for an EVAC. We got there just in time to see the Normandy leave." Something dark in her eyes glazed over as she paused, "Harbinger left seconds after it hit you and the Conduit disappeared with it."

That didn't make sense. Shepard's eyes darted back and forth between Hackett and Jack. She remembered being there, how could they be telling her different… Unless the Crucible never fired. Was everyone still at war?

A sick feeling settled in her stomach, making her nauseous. All the turmoil up on the Citadel with T.I.M.; fighting to stave off the wound in her side in attempt to stay alive until her mission had been completed; seeing the fallen Reaper ship on the horizon—was it all just a dream?

"But the Crucible?…" She managed to choke out, fearing the answer.

"—it fired just fine." Hackett finished, nodding.

The pounding against her temple was growing louder and more painful. None of what they were saying made any sense. "Who the fuck opened the arms to the Citadel?" This was getting ridiculous. If no one had made it up to the Citadel, then how did the Crucible fire?

Hackett must have noticed her discomfort as he shuffled in place. "We're not _exactly_ sure what happened. We were moving the Crucible into place when we got word that Anderson and you were gunned down." He gestured with his hands, "The Citadel just _opened_. Our researchers _think_ the Citadel had an ancient automatic system that activated in the proximity of the Crucible."

Shepard took a good long moment of silence, mulling it all over. "But I… remember being there." She whispered, incredulously. The eerie face of the child-like catalyst appeared in her mind. Every ounce of her being wanted to shout at Hackett, to tell him what she had experienced. But the way he was looking at her, told her that it was better kept to herself.

Perhaps the drugs were making her mind foggy, and there was something that she was overlooking. She didn't want to talk herself right into the looney bin, so she resolved to resurfacing the issue once she was mentally sound—because ultimately, it didn't matter; the Crucible had fired and all was surely right in the world.

Hackett took yet another glance at Doctor Land. "We'll have them do another scan on your brain. After that, I'll have someone look into your story."

Shepard took a calming breath. "What about the Normandy, did they make it?"

Pursing his lips in a candidly bad sign, Hackett took a deep breath. He had hoped to skirt away from this conversation. "They were one of the few ships to escape to FTL before the Crucible fired." He cleared his throat, lifting his fist to cover his lips as he did so. "We're not exactly sure where they are."

The florescent lights above her bed vied for her attention, as Shepard struggled to stay awake. "Can you not contact them?"

"Unfortunately the Mass Relay was badly damaged. So, answering your question, I'm afraid not—at the moment, at least. We're preparing to send an unmanned Data droid out to attempt to send messages to some of the colonies while we assess the damage. I'll send someone in to take a message from you for the Normandy." He stood a little straighter, pulling on the bottom of his uniform top to smooth it out. His fidgeting was a tell-tale sign to Shepard that he was becoming more and more uncomfortable.

Effectively, the Normandy was lost. Shepard did her best to nod, willing the tears forming in her eyes to not fall. What had become of her crew?

A fog started to creep into her mind. Thoughts of Garrus tempted her into a dreamscape, but she desperately fought it off. "I need a ship, can you spare one?"

Hackett's eyes widened at her request. "You just need to focus on feeling better."

"You're not going anywhere fast," Doctor Land added, at the foot of her bed, overtop the datapad she had been typing on, "You're gonna have to go through an extensive rehab, and that's assuming that you get feeling in your feet back." With her hand, she patted the tops of Shepard's feet through the blanket.

Shepard could see it happen, but didn't—couldn't feel it. Panic suddenly gripped her heart. She closed her eyes, clenching her fingers into fists so tight that she felt her fingernails digging into her palm, desperately trying to bring herself back to the present. She'd deal with the consequences of battle later. "I'll be fine." She stated, not entirely confident of her own words. "My main concern is finding the Normandy."

"And we're going to do everything we can to make sure they're found." Hackett held out a hand, in the defensive. "But, you've been on the front lines more than any of us, Shepard. Maybe, in the meantime, it might be more practical to think about taking a break."

Shepard furrowed her eyebrows at him. The Normandy was under her current command, and it was effectively lost. The crew could do just fine without her, for the time being, but she'd be damned if she just left them missing in action. Commanders don't take breaks; _she_ didn't need a break. "No." She stated firmly, raising her voice above a whisper. "As soon as I get out of here, I'm going to go find my crew." She told him, firmly.

"We're not giving you a ship, Shepard." He told her decisively.

Shepard was about to open her mouth in retort when Jack suddenly stood from her chair, its four feet loudly scraping on the linoleum floor. "Why the fuck not?"

There was a look on Jack's face like she might jump right over Shepard and throttle Hackett. For a moment, the thought almost made her smile.

"Jesus, calm down, Jack. You know we can't spare it. We need all the ships we have left to aid in reconstruction." He hissed, his eyes flicking back down to Shepard. "You just need to focus on getting better. I've talked it over with the council—perhaps after you're feeling better you might consider accepting a promotion to Admiral."

She knew what accepting an Admiral position meant. She'd likely never take command of a ship ever again. And the last thing she wanted was a desk job—especially before the Normandy was found safe. "I'm not laying down my gun." Shepard growled, feeling her nails dig into the palms of her hands again. The pain made it easier to fight off the fog that threatened to disperse her consciousness.

Admiral Hackett sighed and a disappointed frown lined his aged face. "I thought you might say that." After a moment's pause and a moment's thought, he stood a little straighter. "We could have really used you. We're going to have to relieve you of duty for the time being."

"That sounds an awful lot like blackmail." Jack shot in, still standing by Shepard's side.

"I didn't say it was forever." He held out his hand, palm down, defensively. He refused to address Jack, keeping his eyes only on Shepard. "Just until you're back on your feet. Then we'll look into you helping out as a Spectre consulate."

"So either way, you still get a _fucking_ desk job." Jack threw up her arms and paced. "The Alliance can suck our balls."

"There's not much else to be done." Hackett snapped. "I don't know if you've noticed, Jack, but she may never walk again." He gestured to her feet, before turning his attention back onto Shepard. She could see in his eyes that he was far done with this conversation. "I've made my decision. And I'm sorry you're not happy with that, but we'll discuss it at further detail when you're in a better headspace."

After tossing a glare at Jack, he spun on his heels and off he went.

Jack angrily flipped him the bird before turning back to Shepard. "Don't worry, Grunt and I will break you out of here." She cocked a sideways smile.

It was no small part of her that was glad that Jack and Grunt were there with her, instead of on the Normandy.


End file.
